


The Evil Itch

by Threshie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Breakfast, Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Castiel's Wings Are Burned, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Fluff, Gen, Good and Evil, Healing, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Jack Heals Castiel's Wings, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester Bonding, Jack Kline Gets a Hug, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Nephilim, POV Sam Winchester, Sweet Jack Kline, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, molting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22030114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshie/pseuds/Threshie
Summary: Jack’s wings are itchy, and he’s worried something is terribly wrong with them.
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester, Jack Kline & Sam Winchester
Comments: 29
Kudos: 346





	The Evil Itch

“Does Jack seem different to you?” Sam asked Cas quietly one morning. He and the angel sneaked glances at the nephilim, who was distracted by a big stack of pancakes over at the breakfast table. 

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again as Jack put down his fork and rolled his shoulders, rubbing at one. 

“I think his back is sore or something,” Sam continued softly, frowning in concern at their son. “He keeps fidgeting and rubbing his shoulders.”

“It’s not his back,” Cas said immediately. “He’s so young, I didn’t think we would have to deal with this yet, but nothing about Jack’s aging or lineage are typical.”

Sam sat up, his worried frown deepening.

“What does that mean, Cas?”

The angel was already starting toward the table, though, calling to Jack.

“Jack, are you alright?” 

Sam hurried after, wondering the same thing. 

The kid looked up at Sam and Cas, admitting, “I’m not sure. My wings…” He squirmed in his seat and rubbed at one shoulder again. “They feel terrible.”

Sam blinked, glancing quickly at Jack’s back. He couldn’t see the wings, of course. What if something was wrong with them, though? Was Jack hurt? A thousand worries went through his head in an instant, and he prayed Cas knew what to do, because he had no idea.

“I know what to do,” Cas assured him aloud, glancing at him. Sam must have actually prayed that with Cas’s name involved, so he’d heard it. Whoops. 

“Can you make them feel better?” Jack asked hopefully, mistaking the comment from Cas as one directed at him. Cas moved to stand behind him, hovering his hands out toward Jack’s back.

“Yes, but you’ll need to make them visible to Sam as well. I need his help.”

Jack nodded quickly, and his eyes flared gold. Golden light seemed to flow from his shoulder blades outward, painting wings into existence across his back. They were white with a pearly golden sheen, and Sam saw that the feathers were ruffled and poking out at odd angles in a few places. He gawked at the scattering of feathers across the floor as well.

“Molting?” He asked Cas in disbelief. “Do angels molt?”

“Feathered things tend to, Sam,” Cas replied mildly, placing his hands on Jack’s right wing and running his fingers through the feathers, gently scratching at the skin beneath. Jack’s eyes fell closed and he sighed in relief.

“That’s helping…!”

“You’re just feeling itchy because the feathers are falling out, and new ones are growing in,” Cas explained to him patiently. “It’s perfectly normal, and it’ll pass in a few weeks.”

Sam stepped over to Jack’s left wing, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder to get his attention. When the nephilim looked at him, Sam held a hand near the wing, smiling uncertainly.

“Is it okay if I help, too?”

Jack quickly nodded.

“Thank you, Sam. I couldn’t sleep last night, they were so itchy,” he admitted sheepishly. “I should’ve just asked someone.”

“Why didn’t you?” Sam asked, taking Jack’s left wing and sinking his fingers into the fluffed up feathers. They were surprisingly soft, and the skin beneath them was very warm. Jack sighed and leaned his elbows forward on the table with his face in his cupped hands.

“I just…”

Sam heard the hesitation in his tone and held his tongue, letting Jack figure out how to express what he was thinking on his own. Focusing on gently scratching over the wing he held, Sam worked slowly from the peak down toward Jack’s back. 

“I was afraid something was wrong with me,” Jack admitted in a small voice. He really did sound scared.

“If there was, you know you could come to us with that too, right?” Sam asked. If Jack thought he had to hide things from them, he wouldn’t have anybody to help him, and there was so much that he still didn’t know.

Jack was quiet for a long moment.

“Wings are something that angels also have,” he began carefully. “So if mine…f-fell apart, or off, then I thought maybe my good side was going away.” It was a childish take, but even though he didn’t look like it, Jack WAS a child. Sam’s heart ached, that the kid was still worried about things like good and evil. The fact that he was concerned about being a monster told Sam that there wasn’t an evil bone in his body. 

“Being from Heaven doesn’t mean being good,” Cas spoke up, making Sam glance at him.

Jack glanced back, too, his brows furrowing sadly. 

“So maybe I don’t have a good side, then. Maybe I AM ev-”

“You are NOT evil,” Cas interrupted, frowning. The kid blinked at him. Cas let go of the wing he held and stepped around to stand beside Jack at the table, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Jack, evil isn’t a state of being — it’s actions, and intentions, and desires that are destructive and cruel. No matter what you are, that will never be you unless you choose it.” 

Sam ran his palm gently over Jack’s wing, more petting than scratching now. He knew exactly how the nephilim felt. Sam had spent much of his life thinking he was inherently unclean and wrong — destined to turn into something twisted. Through all of those years, he’d never had somebody like Cas who explained it so simply, but so undeniably. 

Evil wasn’t what you were. It was who you were. And it was a choice.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said sadly. “I guess it’s stupid to worry about being evil, then. So many people thought I would be that I just worry about how all of them can be wrong at once.”

“Believe me, they can be,” Cas grumbled, stepping back to pay attention to Jack’s right wing again.

Jack flexed his wings slightly, and Sam loosened up his hold on the left one, not wanting to hurt him. After a second the kid settled back down into his chair, though, sighing in relief as Cas scratched at his other wing. 

It wasn’t stupid to worry about being evil, Sam thought, unless he and Jack were both stupid. He knew that wasn’t true. Right now it was probably best to focus on the present. Sam was grateful all over again that Cas was back and here to help raise Jack. He was a wonderful father already, and Jack very much looked up to him. 

“You can talk to us about anything,” Sam assured the kid, leaning to press a kiss to the top of his head. When Jack glanced his way, Sam smiled and added a little kiss to his forehead. “Anything at all, okay? We’ll love you no matter what.”

Jack’s eyes had tried to follow when Sam kissed his forehead, and crossed briefly. He looked at Sam again now and beamed.

“I love you, too! And I’m really glad my wings aren’t falling apart.” 

Castiel made a little huff of amusement from off to Sam’s side. Sam realized with a pang of sadness that Cas knew how much it took to damage wings like that because his own had been burned beyond repair. Did his wings still molt? Sam made a mental note to ask him, and to offer to help him with the itching if they did. 

“I’ll show you how to wash them later so they won’t itch as much,” Cas told Jack patiently, unaware of Sam’s sad thoughts. “But first we should finish breakfast.”

“Hey, do I smell pancakes? Whoa.” Dean hurried from the kitchen door over to lean around Sam, staring at Jack’s wings and Sam and Cas holding onto them. “Uh, everything okay?” Sam’s brother asked awkwardly, glancing at Jack’s face the same moment that the kid looked at him uncertainly. 

Dean offered an uneasy smile back. He had been a wreck ever since Cas died, and when Jack was first born things been rough since Dean had suspected that the kid mind controlled Cas to his death. Jack’s own confusion about where he stood in the world and worries about being a monster had not helped any. Sam had tried to mediate as best he could. Fortunately, Dean had completely stopped with that talk once Cas returned. Sam was glad to see him show concern for Jack now, however clumsily, because the kid really looked up to him.

“I’m okay,” Jack assured Dean with a smile. “My wings are molting, but it’s perfectly normal.”

Dean shot Sam and Cas a dubious look. When they nodded to confirm it, he shrugged a little and headed for the coffee pot. 

“Alright then. Glad you’re not hurt.” Sam caught him glancing over his shoulder to get a second look at Jack’s wings and hid his smile. They really were amazing, and beautiful. Dean was playing it casual, but Sam could tell that he agreed. 

“Sam, you should have breakfast,” Cas told him, reaching for Jack’s other wing. “I can take over until you’re done.” 

Stepping back over with a cup of coffee, Dean leaned to look at the wing Sam held from a different angle. 

“You have to keep scratching or what?”

“Or they itch a lot,” Jack sighed, poking at his pancakes.

Blinking, Dean turned and sat his coffee on the table, then held out his hands to Sam.

“Here, let me.”

Jack glanced back at him, surprised he was offering. Sam was a little, too, but he gently placed the wing he held into Dean’s hands. 

“Just scratch gently — really gently,” he said, and reluctantly headed for the coffee pot. It was true that Cas couldn’t scratch both wings as well at the same time, and Dean didn’t actually seem to want to hurt Jack, so… Why was Sam so uneasy about this?

He poured his cup of coffee, listening to them at the table. 

“That okay?” Dean asked quietly. 

“That helps a lot,” Jack said, sounding relieved. “Thank you, Dean. Aren’t you hungry, though?”

“Sam hardly touches pancakes, there’ll still be plenty left for me,” Dean said as Sam turned around and leaned against the kitchen counter. Dean was standing more to Jack’s side as he ran his fingers through the feathers of his left wing, and Jack was sitting up to talk to him. Behind Jack, Castiel had a soft smile on his face as he listened to them. 

Dean glanced at Cas, then back to Jack.

“Didn’t know your wings could be visible like this. Is that a nephilim thing, or can Cas do it, too?”

“I can,” Cas sighed. His tone said that he really, really didn’t want to, though.

Dean shrugged a tiny bit, turning back to focus on Jack’s feathers. He ran a hand over them, trying to smooth them down. 

“I bet they’re just as awesome as Jack’s.” 

Jack’s sunny little smile at Dean calling him awesome in any capacity made Sam smile, too. He felt sad for Castiel, though. Dean seemed to be forgetting that his wings were so damaged they weren’t usable anymore.

“They…” Cas sighed, looking down at Jack’s white-gold feathers wistfully. “They were once what you might consider beautiful. I wish I had shown you then.”

Sam had served up a plate of pancakes and was starting to nibble at them, but the way Cas said that took away his appetite. It must be hard to look at Jack’s wings and not think about his own.

Jack flexed his wings suddenly, and Cas and Dean let go of them — Dean quickly, like he thought Jack might be struggling. The nephilim folded his wings on his back, though, and hopped out of his seat, turning to Cas. 

“Could I see, Castiel?”

Cas glanced over at Sam, then at Dean. He seemed uncomfortable.

“You can already see them in their non-corporeal state, Jack.” 

“I mean like this,” the kid insisted, extending one of his wings to demonstrate. “I’ve never seen an angel’s wings like this before. All of the other angels keep trying to kill me when I get close to them.” He added the last thoughtfully, like maybe if they became friends the others might show him. Sam somehow doubted it.

As with most things, if it was for Jack’s sake, Cas would do it. He sighed and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. There was no golden glow from Cas — it was a brilliant blue light from the upper part of his back, and then the arches and feathers flowed down into solid shapes from there as the nephilim’s wings had.

Except that Cas’s wings were only half-there. Where Jack’s were full and fluffy across the bottoms, the angel’s were in blackened, burnt tatters, jagged spaces between the ruffled feathers offering glimpses of bare wing bones here and there. Several ragged feathers drifted to the floor as Cas unfolded his wings, turning his back so that Jack could get a good look at them.

“I’m afraid all angels’ wings look like this now, Jack,” he sighed. “Because of me.” 

“Because of that dick Metatron,” Dean corrected firmly, stepping closer to Cas. He held out a hand, but didn’t quite touch, looking over the damage with anger and sadness in his eyes. “This’s…does it hurt, Cas? Looks like it hurts.” 

Cas shifted on his feet, not answering the question. Sam came over to look at his wings more closely, too, and up close the charred flesh made him feel queasy. No wonder Cas hadn’t wanted to show them.

Jack stepped closer, reaching to place both palms gently on Cas’s wings. The angel sighed and folded them up a little tighter on his back. 

“That’s not fair,” Jack said, frowning. “You shouldn’t have to hurt. I’m going to fix it.” 

Dean turned sharply toward him as the words sunk in, but before he could say anything, Jack’s eyes flared gold and brilliant white light burst from his palms, too bright for any of them to see for a moment. As it died down, Sam blinked a few times to find Cas turning back and wrapping Jack in his arms — and wings. Big, soft, sleek black wings with not one burn on them. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Cas whispered as he pulled away from the hug. Sam thought he sounded choked up, his voice rougher around the edges than usual. Jack beamed at him, and the angel managed a small smile back.

“Holy crap,” Dean voiced what Sam was also thinking, staring. “You can do THAT, but you can’t make an itch go away?”

“I guess so,” Jack replied as Sam stepped up and wrapped him in a hug, too, careful of his wings. The kid hugged back, but he seemed uncomfortable. Sam realized why when he rolled his shoulders again. Right, the itching hadn’t gone anywhere. 

Dean, meanwhile, was tentatively running a hand over one of Cas’s wings. The angel was still trying to compose himself, blue eyes shining with tears, but he smiled at how careful Dean was being. As Sam let go of Jack, he noticed Dean tilting his head. Following his gaze, Sam saw several dark feathers trail down to the floor. For an awful moment he thought Jack’s healing wasn’t permanent — then Castiel and Jack simultaneously arched a wing over a shoulder and scratched at it, though, and Dean started to laugh.

“Uh-oh, looks like Jack’s not the only one who’s molting, buddy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading my fic! I wrote this story to give Jack a bonding moment with each of his dads, and to let him heal Cas's wings -- something I'm sure he could do if it occurred to him to! Cas is just the sort not to ask for such a thing, even though it makes a such a big difference for him. 
> 
> This is my 100th work on AO3 -- whoohoo! Whether you've read my entire library or you only ever read this story, I hope you liked it. ♥ Comments and kudos fuel the writing machine!


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